My Dirty Little Athazagoraphobia

I've always been afraid. Afraid of everything and everyone, but the fear of commiting to someone never crossed my mind. The fear of commiting and then being forgotten. Because you see, that's what Athazagoraphobia is. The fear of being forgotten.

Until Will walked into the picture.

I mean that literally of course.

"The frame, the frame! Oh, Macy, darling, it's falling!"

"Paintings don't need frames, Mother," I murmered. "It masks the true beauty." She didn't hear me, of course. Just waved her arms around frantically and fretted over every tiny detail.

I'm an artist, you see. One of my paintings had been featured in a show in New York last week, and and now a dealer was coming down to view some of my work. Painting was only one of my many hobbies, and not my favorite, but my mother thought I was amazing. She thought I’d be a great artists, except…I was only sixteen, you know? I still had time to decide, but I already knew art wasn’t my decision.. We were setting up a studio in one of the community center’s spare rooms.

 My mom struggled to support three heavy canvas's.

"Hello?" The painted gold, wooden, gilded frame I was holding practically tumbled out of my hands. He caught the other end and leaned his head in, looking at me. I blushed. "I was told you requested assistance up here? I'm the new intern maintence man." He stuck out a hand. "My name is Will, by the way."

I smiled, and stuck out my hand. "Macy," I said. "Macy McKinley. I haven't seen you around."

"New, we just moved here," he said. I nodded understandingly.

Will had a gorgeous thick, british accent. He had blond hair, was tall and lanky, and the most beautiful green eyes. I was starting to get lost in them.

"Macy!" My mom complained. "Get to work."

'Yeah, sure," I murmered. "Would you mind..just, holding this for a sec?" I asked Will.

"Sure." He took the fakely gilded frame.

I grabbed the canvas of the rose, or as my mom called it, 'my masterpiece.' I sighed at the nickname. She was so ambitious. I really did not want to be an artist.

I grabbed a canvas and hung it up. "Oh, darling, you know how successful you'll be in Art?" My mom sighed, staring at the painting. My mom had nicknamed it 'Master.' She thought it was my best work.

I did not agree.

I thought my best was the splatter paint canvas. All the colors..it was amazing. But no, the rose was better. I rolled my eyes. Will looked at me.

"Wow," he breathed. "Macy, that's amazing...," he whispered. I blushed.

"I don't agree. It's just a picture...," I said.

"You're too humble," he said. I combed my fingers through my hair nervously.

"No, really. That right there isn't true art," I whispered, before my mother cut me off.

"William? That was your name, correct?" She continued on without waiting for his answer. "We don't need you anymore. Shoo!" She waved her hand. He walked away stiffly.

"Mother!" I yelled. "That was absolutely rude!"

"Excuse me?" She said lightly, raising an eyebrow. I grunted, then turned around. In a moment of spontaneity, I grabbed the 'Master Rose' and tore a hole through it. I peeled away the picture, ruining it completely, than grabbed my splatter paint and hung it up in it's spot. A surge of pride swept through me. I was sick of my mothers behavior. I turned around and ignored her slack jaw and furious expression.

"There." I whispered. "That's my best work."

I stormed out of the studio, furious at her behavior. Will was sitting on the stairs. "Will!" He looked up, his blind hair slightly ruffled as he ran his fingers through it."Oh, hey."

"My mother...she has absolutely no manners whatsoever and has a knack for being totally rude. I...I-um, apologize for her...behavior."

"Nah, it's okay." He shrugged. "I know those types." I smiled thinly.

"Yeah." I tapped my foot nervously. "Hey, are you going to start school around here?"

"Yeah, Grover High?" I nodded.

"I kind of figured...it's the only high school around here for miles, but it's always good to ask." He smiled.

"Well, uh, I gotta go. Show me around on Monday?"

I nodded slightly, smiling to myself. “Yeah,” I responded. “Sure.”

Then he was gone, and I went back up to the studio.

"Macy McKinley, you little witch." My mother was seething. I stayed near the door. "I cannot believe you just...ruined that!"

"Well, I didn't like it."

"You just ruined our chances! My chance!"

"You're chance at what?" I snapped, before I could stop myself.

"Macy!"

"What?" I said angrily. "This isn't about you, Mom. It's about me. What I want to do. And this isn't it." I gestured to the studio, then walked out.

As I walked down the street, the sun blinked at me. Shining straight in my eyes, making it irritate me more, I slipped on my sunglasses and my jacket. A breeze rippled through the air.

 I ran my fingers through my hair again. I admit, it's a nervous habit, and my mother hates it. My mother also wasn't going to forgive me. Not for a while, at least.

But just then, I realized something. I didn't care. I didn't feel guilty like I always did. I smiled slightly, ducking my head, then walked through a small entranceway into the park.

It was late spring, cold enough for a jacket, warm enough without one. It was the in between stage when all the flowers bloomed and the trees were almost full of green again. That awkward stage between Summer and School Time. Kind of like a pre-teen, when you don't know your place in the world...when everything, even the smallest zit, seems like the end of the world, and you teeter between maturity and childness. Your treated differently. Like spring, theres still the possibility of snow, but theres also the possibility that it can be seventy out and warm and sunny.

I smiled wider to myself.

"Macy?" A familiar, high-pitched voice said.

"Ally?!" I asked, slightly timid.

"Macy!" A thin, petite girl shot out from behind a row of trees and straight towards me.

"Ally!" I exclaimed, putting my fingers to my head and wiggling them. She stopped dead, solemnly doing the same. In a few seconds, we burst out laughing. Our secret handshake rocked. Epiccly.

She then proceeded to shoot like a bullet towards me again, embracing me in a gigantic bear hug despite her small size.

Ally was chinese, but mainly american. She had thin dark hair, tan skin, and brown eyes. She was also my bubbly best friend.

The door of the center I had just walked out of jingled as someone left. Ally's jaw dropped.

"And who is he?" She whispered excitedly. 'He?' What was she - oh wait. I turned around.

Guess who?